Hot Southern Nights
The air is as still and calm as a sleeping child.
Confederate jasmine blooms sweet growing wild.
Crickets chirp; tree frogs sing; fireflies blink and shine.
Hot summer nights still as a sleeping child;
sweet as ambrosias summer wine.
Country smells drift filling the night air.
Oh soft recollections of days without care.
Nothing soothes like the hot southern night.
Oh but naught of angels dressed in white.
J. Allen Wilson © 6/2008
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Cheers,
Dan
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :)
(((HUGS))), love and continued prayer, Karla.
Peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"
Regis
Sandie Angel :o)
of those hot southern nights as boy. The only thing I missed
perhaps was the country smells, which would have been smothered
in the smell of crabs and whatever was carried on the breeze
from the bay and the sea. Enjoyed your poem. - gene.